Partners In Crime
by orangefanfic
Summary: In this Rule 63 AU fanfic for Orange Is The New Black, we meet the male versions of Piper, Alex, Nicky and Lorna. New Litchfield inmate Peter Chapman tells the story of his friendship with troublemaker Nicky Nichols.


I'm not entirely sure what made Nicky Nichols irresistible. He was a mess, to be sure – he barely bathed and survived on a steady diet of junk food. He also hated authority and half the time stayed in SHU for mouthing off to the guards.

Maybe the allure was the shock of wild red hair that he refused to comb, or even his walk. He had a swagger that said he'd tagged every worthwhile piece of ass at the Litch or could if he wanted to.

I was just amazed that a grown man could get away with calling himself "Nicky" and still be so respected by everyone, even the guards that he routinely told to kiss his ass.

"Why not Nicholas?" I asked one day over lunch.

"Too formal," he answered, tearing into a fruit cup.

"Nick?"

"Too plain."

I felt like he was playing with me. He guzzled the syrup from the cup and left the fruit sitting right there. Then he poked me in the chest.

"I am who I am, Chapman," he said in that raspy voice tinged with New York savvy. "You should never try to escape who you are. It just doesn't work."

_Junkie philosopher_ indeed. As a heavy user and occasional dealer, Nicky had lived a hard life on the outside. So hard, in fact, that now he was full of homespun wisdom that he took upon himself to share with me at every opportunity.

"You're a lost lamb, Chapman," he'd say. "Come follow me."

I wasn't ready to fall for Nicky's charms, or anyone's for that matter. Alex had been the dark secret that had torn my family apart. It wasn't okay for nice guys like me from Connecticut to do anything unexpected, let alone sleep with other men, bad men with tattoos and septum piercings who smuggled drugs from overseas. To them, gay sex was an unspeakable terror connected to a whole category of illicit behavior they wouldn't allow. At this point, nobody would even speak to me except Callie, who was just relieved that I'd replaced her as the black sheep of the family.

My folks had abandoned me and Alex had rubbed me raw, and I wasn't interested in sex. Besides, I'd seen _Oz_ and my main concern in here was safety. I'd intentionally put on weight in preparation to be locked up, but I still thought I looked soft and sad. I hated seeing my reflection and went out of my way to avoid it in the dingy bathroom mirrors each morning, choosing instead to watch mold creep up through the cracked tile floors.

Luckily it turned out that Nicky only wanted my friendship. After a while, his own sexual exploits even seemed to slow down. Nicky's hit list had been a mile long and I guess eventually the thrill wears off.

I also knew that Nicky had fallen for the one person he couldn't have. There was a nutcase named Arnold Morello who was down for theft and mail fraud. A short, squat guy from Bay Ridge with an impossibly cheery demeanor that just barely hid the crazy behind his eyes. He was a complete gentleman, and idealistic like someone from the '50s. Nicky was hooked.

"So _that's_ your type, the romantic kind?" I teased as Nicky stared at Morello in the yard, salivating.

"Shut it," was all the reply I got.

Morello was always kind to me, but rumor said he had terrorized his girlfriend and tried to kill her. The war on women had worked in his favor and he didn't get any extra time for the stalking, but he was still obsessed with this woman in a way that drove Nicky up a wall. Her picture was clipped out all over his bunk. He had a box of her returned letters. Nicky was after Morello and Morello was after her, and nobody was going to get what they wanted.

So I did what I could to rescue my friend from this other toxic relationship. I stuck close to Nicky and pretended to need him more than I actually did. He seemed to enjoy teaching me how to get over – offering pearls of wisdom like how to rig the vending machines, where to stuff contraband, and how to get along with Red, the giant Russian who ran the kitchen.

We hung out so often that the others started calling us Thelma and Louise, which I thought was unfair unless we were going to break out of there some day.

Now that I think of it, I know what the attraction was. Nicky was the kind of person you wanted to sit and have a drink with, and maybe you would have on the outside. He had a way of making you feel alright with yourself, which was important for living in a place as severely screwed up as this.


End file.
